Vale stood before the chained man. Half-broken links of steel still clung to his body, clattering like shattered armor. Long, needle-like blades pierced his back and limbs, yet their metal remained stainless, as if they had never drawn a single drop of blood.
At some point, the man had risen. He turned his head slowly, searching the bloody sea it surface. An obsidian mask covered his entire face; he shouldn't have been able to see, yet Vale suspected he perceived the world through other means.
'What is he looking for?' Vale wondered, watching carefully.
The man's physique was powerful, built for speed as much as strength. Parts of his skin were missing, revealing raw muscle beneath. His pants were torn nearly to rags, yet they refused to fall apart, held together by some invisible force.
Then the man moved again. He shook his head, as if disappointed. One hand rose to his mask, tilting slightly, imitating what looked like a deep, weary sigh. After a moment, he straightened his posture and brought both hands forward. He extended one arm and pointed directly at his chest, his heart, to be precise.
The chained man paused. In that instant, Vale felt as if time itself slowed. With sudden, impossible speed, the man plunged his hand into his own chest, tearing through skin and cracking bone on the way to his heart.
He hesitated, perhaps from pain, or perhaps from surprise, as bloodless seconds stretched thin. Then he moved again. With a sharp pull, he tore his hand free, leaving a gaping hole behind. His heart rested in his palm, yet he lifted his arm casually, almost nonchalantly, as if holding one's own heart were the most natural thing in the world.
There wasn't the slightest flinch in the man's movements; each motion carried cold, deliberate intent. He turned his masked face toward Vale, obsidian plating hiding any trace of expression, and then crushed his own heart in his fist.
Vale's eyes widened.
Instead of bursting into mist or blood, the heart ignited, blazing into a pillar of pure light, as tall and slender as a great blade. The brilliance faded just as quickly, leaving behind a weapon forged from some pale, bone-like material.
The man lowered his hand, and with it, the newly formed blade. He went still, frozen mid-breath, or so it seemed. With his face concealed, Vale couldn't be certain of anything.
The chained man lifted his head toward Vale once more and spoke.
"Akte hist alebd!"
His voice rang out aloud, resonant, filled with a determination Vale had never heard before. With a sweeping motion, the man hurled the bone-white blade toward him. The throw itself held no theatrics, yet there was something undeniably magnificent in the act.
The blade struck the crimson sea at Vale's feet, parting it cleanly. It remained upright, perfectly still, waiting to be claimed. Vale stared at it for several seconds, lost in thought.
'This man… he's suffering. He ripped out his own heart and turned it into a weapon. And that language, it's unlike anything I've ever heard.' His thoughts slowed, deliberate.
A faint smile curved across Vale's lips as he reached into the bloody water and wrapped his fingers around the hilt.
"This dream is truly a magnificent one… isn't it?" he murmured to himself, lifting the blade.
Vale turned the blade over in his hands, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Its surface was a dark, bone-like color, every inch carved from solid osseous material. Despite its composition, the sword felt surprisingly light, yet the moment he gripped it, he sensed its durability. It was sturdy, unyielding, almost unnaturally tough. One side of the blade was honed to a razor edge, while the other remained blunt, as if meant for deflecting strikes rather than cutting.
The weapon itself was on the shorter side. To Vale, it appeared to be a fusion between a tachi and a gladius, perfectly balanced for swift, precise motions in close quarters. Curious, he brushed his fingertip gently along the sharpened edge. Even the lightest touch sliced his skin, leaving a thin line of red across his finger.
By all accounts, the blade was ideal for combat. Lightweight. Reliable. Efficient. Able to move gracefully through narrow openings and oppressive fights. Vale's expression shifted to admiration, mingled with wonder.
"Never did I imagine a blade like this could be made from bone…" he murmured. "But this is a dream, after all. Everything is possible, I suppose." A heavy sigh escaped his lips, half awe, half disbelief.
He lifted his gaze back to the chained man.
The hole in the stranger's chest remained, gaping and unnatural, as though some curse kept it from closing. His heart was gone, yet he stood, more alive than he appeared moments ago. He had shifted positions, now kneeling on one knee, one hand hovering just above the crimson waters.
Vale narrowed his eyes and looked down at the blood beneath the man's palm. The surface that had been silent and still since his arrival was changing. The blood began to ripple, then tremble. Tiny bubbles surfaced, rising and bursting. It simmered like water on the brink of a boil.
A low hum thrummed through the air, a gathering pressure.
It was waiting.
Waiting to erupt.
Vale's grip tightened around the bone blade as the sea of blood prepared to awaken.
A thunderous bang echoed across the crimson sea as the blood beneath the chained man's hand erupted. A massive column of steam and scarlet fluid blasted upward, engulfing his arm completely. Yet the man didn't so much as flinch. He held his position, utterly unmoving.
Vale stared in silent awe as the pillar speared toward the sky, boiling and roaring. Moments later, the blood rained back down, pattering into the sea below. When the surface settled, it returned to that eerie, unnatural stillness, as calm as glass.
And where the pillar had once stood, the chained man now held a sword. It was long and bone-white, a hybrid between an odachi and a longsword. It appeared to be forged of the same strange material as Vale's blade, though its form was sharper, heavier, more suited for overwhelming power.
'So that will be your weapon? You intend to fight me, then?' Vale thought, a chill crawling down his spine.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, and a single bead of cold sweat slid across his forehead.
"Very well," he said quietly. "Since this is only a dream, I'll just wake up when I die. Nothing to worry about."
The chained man moved at last. He planted his free hand against his knee and rose to stand on both feet. Then he lifted his sword, leveling its point directly at Vale. His mask concealed his face, yet the gesture itself was unmistakable.
A challenge.
'I was right,' Vale thought, tightening his grip. He raised his bone blade with both hands, stepping into a ready stance, his breath steady and watchful.
The blood-red sea stilled around them, waiting.
For a moment, it felt as if the world had stopped around them. As if the black suns were watching. As if the sea of blood was breathing. The very air seemed aware, thinking. Everything changed the instant Vale accepted the fight against this mysterious man.
Vale shifted slightly and blinked.
His vision went dark, just for a heartbeat, but something felt wrong about that moment. When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't looking at the chained man's torso anymore. His perspective had flipped. He was looking at the man's back, the world inverted, as though he were hanging upside down.
Then realization struck.
Vale's head had already left his body. It sailed through the air in a slow, clean arc. His body followed a second later, collapsing into the crimson sea beside him. Head and torso lay together, bathed in red.
'I didn't even get to fight… huh? Well… I'll wake up now. It was fun while it lasted. Goodbye, chained man.'
Vale's final thoughts were peaceful. He imagined waking in his hospital bed, white ceiling and faint sunlight greeting him.
But when he opened his eyes again, there was only darkness.....
....and then the blood-red sea.
His body was whole once more; he could move, breathe, feel the warm liquid beneath his hands. Panic rippled through his chest.
'I… didn't wake up?'
Vale pushed himself upright, settling on his knees. He looked around. Nothing had changed. The air was still pale and heavy. The suns remained devouring pools of black. And beside him, the bone sword waited, resting in the sea as if it had never left his grasp.
Slowly, he turned to his right.
The chained man stood there, unchanged, unmoved, one hand resting on his own massive blade, obsidian mask aimed directly at Vale.
"Nagani," the man declared, voice ringing like steel on stone, pointing his sword once again.
'What… is happening?' Vale thought, staring at the edge of the chained man's weapon, heart pounding in a world that refused to let him wake.